Did many talents gild thy fpan? Thus, refigned and quiet, creep Sleep, whence thou fhalt ne'er awake, To Light and joy the good restore, Stranger, go! Heaven be thy guide! Quoth the Beadfman of Nith-fide. } O D E, SACRED TO THE MEMORY MRS. OF DWELLER in yon dungeon dark, Hangman of creation, mark! Who in widow weeds appears, Laden with unhonoured years, Noofing with care a bursting purse, Baited with many a deadly curfe! STROPHE, View the wither'd beldam's face- Aught of Humanity's sweet melting grace? Pity's flood there never rofe. See thofe hands, ne'er ftretch'd to fave, Hands that took but never gave. Keeper of Mammon's iron cheft, Lo, there fhe goes, unpitied and unbleft, She goes, but not to realins of everlasting reft! ANTIS TROPHE. Plunderer of Armies, lift thine eyes, (A while forbear, ye torturing fiends), Seeft thou whofe ftep, unwilling hither bends? No fallen angel, hurld from upper fkics; Tis thy trufty quondam Mate, Doomed to fhare thy fiery fate, She, tardy, hell-ward plies. E PODE. And are they of no more avail, O, bitter mockery of the pompous bier, EL EGY, ΟΝ CAPT, MH A Gentleman who held the Patent for his Honours immediately from Almighty God! But now his radiant course is run, DEATH! thou tyrant fell and bloody! 'I he meikle devil wi' a woodie Haurl thee hame to his black fmiddie, O'er hurcheon hides, And like flock-fish come o'er his studdie Wi' thy auld fides! |